Tag Archives: writing

The picture put a question what is this? So the viewer looked at the title. The humbug. Thus the wonder did not stop, but continued to inquiry why??? Why is it the humbug? That‘s why I like the fine arts. The „What is this?“ always blossoms out with the „Why?“ at art showrooms.
The passersby would envy such consciousness outside the exhibition if not its follower the silence that terrifies with the question-marks.
The close-up always works like magic – changes everything to the abstraction that captivates with its symbolism. Some call that the fine arts, yet what do we need indeed? The confession of the faith in a plain writing, or the mystery of the “jabber‘s beauty?”
The last always hides us from ourselves.The lie always loses its power in the logic of the title.

Like this:

I bought a lottery ticket. It cost 1$, but I didn’t lose a penny – I win one dollar too. So today became my lucky day: I lost nothing. Was that not a dream?
Thus there are no wonder I didn’t stop buying the lottery tickets – I still have hope to improve my being: to change the sad reality of the living on a disability pension to asunny today. The lottery is my only way to do that.

“Time is what you have left.. you just march with it and use it the best you can”– Frank Stella

Like this:

If you are reading this, it means my writing aren’t lost, and the thoughts jumped not in vain. Thank You. Are you part of this picture?

THE CAUGHT GLIMPSE by Tomas Karkalas; Lithuania

I was walking down a street, the narrow old town street. High walls surrounded me. Was I imprisoned by my town? Or the stone creations were there to teach me somewhat? I looked around, and the blade of grass underfoot pierced me with its green glance. Wow , I sat back in an awe and thus became the blind – the single blade of the grass caught my eye and the heart and thus shadowed the entrance door to the joyful garden under the wall.

“Reason can answer questions, but imagination has to ask them.”
— Ralph Gerard

Like this:

It is good if everybody has a chance to talk, yet that only doubled the pain because nobody listened.As we realize our problems as the misunderstandings, the conflict hurts doubly: the understanding of the meaninglessness of our passions colour up everything as the futility. That increased my despair and led to the hospital for people with the psychiatric disorders in Klaipeda. So I appeared in the art therapy class…Wow! Love was reigning there. The mental hospital was a school of love. I took my camera and became the participant of the class.

My eyes were captured by the Molar King… freedom from the attachments means not the wings, but the blindness to the talents God gave to us.

Many are afraid to greet people with the psychiatric disorders, and such mindset hurts the most. It hurts not only the rejected but the world because the prejudices rob people of their freedom to smile and put them into the slavery to the cunning standards of beauty.

What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly — Lao Tzu

This is a pot – not the artwork, but a simple shot of what’s on my table, however I am going to frame it: to make a pot the distinctive page of my diary. So where is a key to this unsearchable action?
It is neither a shape of my pot, nor the colors of the image – it is the knowledge of what’s inside a pot. That is why the image looks so sweet to me : I saw how my wife was cooking a jam here, and that caused the magical transformation – my knowledge has made the ordinary pot into something worthy to remember, revealed a secret of my transformational art.

Like this:

“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” ~Mark Twain

The yellow “Sentinel” never tires of watching the developments, guards the earth underfoot. The picture serves as a shield against the rational mind – proves Mark Twain’ definition of the kindness which equips us with the truth for the sharing. So the artwork returned myfreedom to choose: if we would visualize the passersby as the letters, what would we read?

… I became even ashamed for my satisfaction with the present moment. That may sound strangely, but if I am enjoying my now, that means I do not wish to improve the situation – the incurable do not wish to recover (!) Can it be so?Faith, hope, and love… I think that faith and hope always point to the future and thus take us out of “here and now”- only the love has the power to cross this trap and bridges heaven to the earth – seemy images

Like this:

The mushrooms grow and have the same taste everywhere, yet, while moving from country to country, the approach to the gathering of the Edible Boletus differs greatly. The Lithuanians and I in the concrete love the mushrooming – the wandering around the woods, but it‘s otherwise in Sweden or Germany – many “gather” the delicious “wood-bread” only in the shops.
The same relate to the fine arts. The colors please each eye, yet radiate the different message – the same image means different things in different countries. In spite of everything, we continue to muse about the global impact of the fine arts on our cultures.

Is that not the ABC of self-deception?

Yes, I like to paint, but what does that mean? How to relate my emotions to the current world events?
Do you know the picture that changed though some in our daily living needs?
No?
I also do not know, yet I am still creating my visual stories.